"Well, they sounded like them, anyhow."
"That's what we thought on Elm Island, and you know how that turned out."
"Oh, well, yes; but this is different," protested Grace. "These hollow groans—there they go again!" and she clutched Amy's arm so suddenly that a cracker and herring sandwich the latter was eating went to the floor.
Indeed there did sound through the deserted house a queer, groaning noise, as if some one was in distress. Betty gave voice to this suggestion, saying:
"Oh, girls, I wonder if any one can be—hurt?"
"Well, I'm not going to look!" cried Grace. "Oh, let's get away from this terrible place. I'd rather be out in the storm than here!"
"In that rain?" asked Mollie, as they listened to the down-rush of water. It even drowned the noise of the groans.
"That is only the wind," declared Mrs. Mackson, though she looked over her shoulder apprehensively. "The wind, moaning down an old chimney, or in some broken window, and around a corner—I have often heard it that way."
"You're a comfort, at least," murmured Betty. "But, girls, I really wonder if it could be anyone in trouble? Someone who took refuge in here from the storm, as we did, and who, wandering about, fell and got hurt. That girl, perhaps—the one from the tree——"
She paused, looking about for some support of her theory.